Let the Lord of Randomness Rule
by Otter Seastar
Summary: WoT poetry, parody and assorted ficlets. New chapter: A romance to make the world weep.
1. Shadowsongs

A/N: No, I don't own WoT. And no, this isn't going to be just another of my mad Shadowspawn fantasies. But it is beginning with a few Shadowspawn themed poems, because that's what I have on hand. The next chapter will be very different, I promise.

Darkhounds  
Hunters of the Blight  
A rare majestic sight  
Silver fang and shining eye  
Fur as black as midnight sky  
Denning in the valleys of the Mountains of Dhoom  
Born into the Shadow-gloom  
Running swiftly o'er the land  
Sculpted by the Dark One's hand  
They are living works of art  
Seeing them delights my heart

To a Dragkhar  
I can think of no better place  
To die than in your winged embrace  
Clasped unto your snowy breast  
My lips to your crimson ones pressed  
Your eyes black pools to swallow me  
And in your song, eternity

Trolloc Lullaby  
You will learn to kill, small one  
You will feast on fresh, warm flesh  
You will eat all you need and kill still more  
Legions will fall to your hungry blade  
You will be great and strong; none who bar your way will live  
Sleep now, and dream of future kills


	2. Discoveries for Daved

_A/N: These events would have happened (though they obviously didn't) while Daved was working under Elayne in Caemlyn. There are no Shadowspawn in this chapter; I personally think the man deserves a Trolloc mauling, but just to prove that I __can__ write about something else, I've given him a different fate…_

Discoveries for Daved

Daved Hanlon shifted irritably in his chair, waiting for the Lady Shiane to dismiss him. He had finished reporting palace events some minutes ago, but she sat contemplating her goblet of wine, sipping now and then. It was very annoying, having to wait on the fool girl's pleasure when there was much else to be done!

At last he couldn't restrain himself. "My lady, I would like to leave now."

She looked up serenely. "You'll leave when I say so."

"What exactly gives you the right to order me around, woman? I'm getting very tired of it, and I just might decide to stop obeying. You won't find that pleasant, I promise."

That didn't ruffle her. Nothing would. "You've been given a job many would envy, you know. Living in the Royal Palace of Andor, playing bodyguard to a beautiful young queen while enjoying her serving-maids and dandling an Aes Sedai. Tell me, how did you rise high enough in the ranks of the Friends to deserve such a position?"

"The same way anyone else would," he snapped, "through many years of loyal, selfless service to the Great Lord." Her cool gaze penetrated his brain; demanding more. "All right, I had an early start. My mother taught me the rules of service when I was very young. Why do you care?"

"You had a much earlier start than you know. I believe you've met Rhavin?"

"Yes, I served him when he held the throne. What's your _point_?"

She smiled. "You are directly descended from him."

He choked on his own wine. "_What?_!"

Sitting back, she adopted a lecturing tone. "As you know, status among the Friends of the Dark has no relation to one's origins or blood today. But during the War of the Shadow, some among the Chosen dreamed of building dynasties to rule over the entire world. Others had produced children before turning to the Shadow, children that they still loved and wanted to protect from the Great Lord's merciless reign. In either case, certain Friends were assigned to care for these children and track them through time, giving high positions to them and their descendents with every new generation. Three thousand years later, that tradition continues, and we are receiving its benefits."

From somewhere under the table, she produced the most lifelike picture he had ever seen. Everything was rounded or angled and exquisitely detailed—indeed, it looked less like a painting or etching than little people trapped between paper and fine glass. A group of little people in strange clothes, standing against a stone wall.

After a moment of staring at it, he realized that she was still talking. "—found this in a stasis box and gave it to me with orders to tell the rest of us about it, probably hoping we would try to fight our parents, eliminate them as competitors for power. These are the Children of the Chosen."

She proceeded to point them out in turn:

A beautiful man with black hair, pale skin and big black eyes: "Lews Covale, son of Lanfear."

A sturdy, green-eyed girl with deep-red curls: "Kestal Earyn, daughter of Aginor."

A very young boy with a savage expression: "Shai Zamon, son of Ishamael. My own forefather."

Two lovely little girls, one fair and one dark: "Finnelaure and Chandrene, daughters of Graendal. Though twins, they appear to have different fathers."

And so on, until she arrived at a group of six black-haired people of various ages, whose features differed widely. "These are all of Rhavin's children that could be found, though he undoubtedly sired many more. The eldest, Gabrelle Miara, is your ancestor."

Daved followed her finger to a slim young woman with a white streak in her hair, and gasped. _She looks like Mother. _Her hard dark eyes were his own, mirroring those of the handsome, powerful man who had taken the throne of Caemlyn and seduced seven beautiful women at once. _Rhavin, the mighty Rhavin, was my _ancesto_r?_ "I don't believe you."

"Believe it or not, as you like. But we are the Children of the Chosen."

"We…yes, you said that…you're descended from _Ishamael_?"

Her smile broadened. "Yes indeed. The Betrayer of Hope wanted an heir to rule beside him, but he got sealed in Shayol Ghul while his son was still young. I presented him with the records tracing Shai Zamon's lineage down to me, and he has accepted me as his heir, to reap the highest honors that a Friend can have while I await his rise to dominion of the world. And that, Master Impatient, is what gives me the right to order you around."

Daved listened to her speech, growing more dazed with every word. Heir of the greatest among the Chosen? Waiting to rule the world? She _had_ to be lying! He glanced again at the picture; that wild-eyed little boy with dusky skin and tousled black curls looked _nothing _like Shiane! And yet…a very close look revealed the beginnings of her sharp nose, the delicate shape of her lips. A hundred generations could have linked their faces.

Trembling slightly, he looked up at Shiane. She was positively grinning! "Go back you your work," she said softly, "and do it with pride, for you are a Child of the Chosen."

Moments later, Daved stumbled out onto the moonlit streets of Caemlyn. He hardly noticed where he was going. Could it be that he, son of a widowed Murandian weaver, have been born to greatness?

After Shiane's revelations, he thought nothing could surprise him. But as he turned a corner, something came into view that made his jaw drop.

A woman was striding up the street towards him, and a riper catch he could not have imagined. Fair hair flowed around her, highlighting pale eyes in a smooth, full-mouthed face. Her dark skirt held the sheen of fine silk, as did a blouse unlaced halfway to her hips. Many extravagant necklaces lay across her lush, nearly-bare bosom—removing them would be a double treat. Her arms and hands glittered with jewels. As she passed an inn, light pouring from its windows turned her hair to molten gold; she glittered like a king's treasury.

A moment later she moved back into the darkness, and he snapped into action. Such a prize would be perfect for celebrating the discovery of his heritage!

He walked briskly forward and stopped right in front of her, blocking her path. She didn't look even slightly nervous.

He bowed. "A lovely night, my lady."

She eyed him coldly. "Step aside, wetlander. I am Sevanna, chief of the Shaido Aiel."

He snorted, maneuvering to back her up against a wall. Women were never chiefs, and Aiel never dressed seductively. This jumped-up imposter had to be deluded as well as utterly incautious. "Here's a little lesson in wetlander ways, Sevanna. When a woman goes out dressed like you, it means she wants to attract men like me. So if that isn't your goal, then in the future you should—"

As he reached for the topmost necklace, her green eyes turned from ice to fire. A moment later, he hid the ground with a painful thud. Looking up, he saw her standing over him with one booted foot poised just above his throat.

So, she thought she could fight! Moving slowly, he ran a hand along the ground until it reached his dagger, which he pulled from its sheath. Then he slashed suddenly at her standing leg—and she jumped back a little without moving her other foot. The blade slashed air. Desperately, he swung his arm around and threw the knife at her chest—and she snatched it out of the air. Kneeling on his chest, pinning his arms to the ground, she held the point to his throat. His heart began pounding. _How did she do that?_

"What shall I do with you, my bold man?" she murmured, soft and fierce. "I could be kind and slit your throat. Or I could open your belly and let you bleed to death in agony. Or," grinning toothily, "I could make you my gai'shain and force you to watch my followers looting your city."

"Looting?"

"Do you need the word explained? All right. 'Looting' is what it's called when we attack the city, taking everything we want, ruining everything we don't want and killing or capturing everyone in our path. It's a quite a sight, you know. Panicked people running every which way, splashing through rivulets of blood and stumbling over fallen bodies; screams filling the air—"

He smiled. "—and treasures gleaming in shattered shop windows and the bashed-in doorways of fine homes, free for the taking. Everyone intent on saving themselves, giving you everything before you kill them. Sometimes they skulk about warily, hoping not to be seen, and you can scare them out of their skins with a sudden snatch from the shadows. Oh, a man can be utterly free in a place like that, with women running about in torn clothes, and catching them easy as picking plums off a…"

He trailed off, realizing that she was staring at him. For a moment, neither moved. Then she leaned even closer to him and murmured, "That was a wonderful description."

Wonderful?

"You have a fine way with words…what are you called?"

"Daved." He winced. A false name was always better to give. But her bosom, nearly touching his face, had distracted him.

"You have a fine way with words, Daved. Perhaps you could earn your keep by entertaining children with your tales."

She thought his "tales" were suitable for entertaining _children_? No wonder the Aiel were savages, if they grew up with stories like that!

"Yet you are quite familiar with looting, it seems, and you love it with the heart of a wild beast. That's admirable."

"Quite familiar indeed." A wild beast, admirable? When they called him "Trolloc-heart" in the Shienaran army, it hadn't been meant as a compliment. But this girl thought him _admirable_. Rhavin's legacy must be showing in him.

"I think, though, that you would not be so pleased to see it happening in your own city."

"Caemlyn isn't my city, and I wouldn't mind at all." Another mistake. If she thought he was miserable because of a looted home, perhaps she wouldn't punish him further. But it was too late for that now. Blood and ashes, why couldn't he think straight?

"Would you like to help, then?"

"I would indeed." Would he! Odd that Shiane had asked him the same thing not long ago. The chances hadn't looked good then, but now he had a real army to work with and nothing to loose. If the Dark Lord was displeased for some reason, well, there were worse ways to die.

"It is…unusual for gai'shain to fight alongside us. But then, I am unusual."

"You are indeed." Unusual didn't _begin_ to describe her!

"It shall be done, than." She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Gai'shain wear only white. So until we get to our camp and proper robes, you must go naked. Starting now."

"N-now?"

"Yes, now. You aren't very pretty, but…I expect you'll find the cold worthwhile. Don't make me dull this nice blade on your clothes, my lion-heart."

He stared for a moment. Then he began to laugh, and continued until his face was wet with tears of mirth. He laughed up at the beautiful, bloodthirsty woman who had changed his fortune so suddenly. "I'll do as you say, my Lady." _Rhavin would be proud_.

_A/N: You think that's fanciful and unlikely? Wait for the next one!_


	3. Random Character Limericks

A little something while I work on some _real _insanity:

There once was a peddler named Fain  
Who was more than a little insane  
At a touch from his dagger  
You'd gasp and you'd stagger  
And die in unspeakable pain

Birgitte was a hero of old  
With a beautiful braid of bright gold  
But her language was dirty  
And she grew quite flirty  
With men who were ugly as mold

There once was an Aiel named Sevanna  
Whose philosophy was: I wanna  
Have ten million rings  
And wed the King of Kings  
And when I tell him 'jump', he's gonna"

Loial is gentle but strong  
His eyebrows are bushy and long  
He loves reading and writing  
From marriage he's hiding  
And trees grow greener at his song

Tylin of Altara was queen  
And loved Ebou Dar's steamy scene  
She desired young Mat  
Stalked him like a cat  
And soon her sheets he was between


	4. SOS

A/N: I've never written a parody or a play, so this is my first attempt at both. Lots of innuendo, but I hope it's not too graphic for the rating. **Bold text** is stage directions, or whatever non-speech is called in playwriting.

**Setting: a room of black marble, hung with tapestries that depict gory scenes. In the middle is a round ebony table and seven chairs**

Offstage voice: Perhaps the room existed in some faraway land, or perhaps only in the mind. One thing is certain: few people knew of its existence and fewer still came out alive.

**Shiaine enters with goblets and a jug of wine, which she sets on the table. Rhadam Asunawa, Temaile Kinderode, Jaq Lounalt and Therava come in one by one, pouring wine and chatting as they settle at the table. Last to arrive are Semirhage and Shaidar Haran, arm in arm.**

Semirhage: This meeting of the Society Of Sadists has officially begun. Let us recite the pledge.

All: _From pain we gain_

Semirhage: First, thanks as always to Shiaine for bringing the excellent wine. I always look forward to it after a week of that disgusting Seanchan beverage.

Shiaine: No problem.

Semirhage: Now, does anyone have something to bring up?

Rhadam: I want more males in the Society. It's just Jaq and I now.

Shaidar Haran: Ahem

Rhadam: You don't count.

Semirhage: Oh, he's male. Believe me. smirks

Rhadam: He's a Fade! Shadowspawn! The bloody Hand of the Dark! Light preserve me, I'm sick of being surrounded by Shadowspawn and Darkfriends and witches and—"

Temaile: Excuse me?!

Rhadam: Yes, I said witches, pointynose! And if I could find you outside this room, I'd--

Temaile: **lunges across the table** How would you like a fireball in the--

Semirhage: Don't make me separate you two. I'm very good at…separating…people.

Therava **grabs Temaile by the waist and pulls her back down** Listen to her, Temmy. Don't waste your emotion on the fool man; he's not worth it.

**Temaile sits down, breathing hard**

Therava: There now, put a smile back on that pretty face

Temaile: Thanks, 'Rava. You're so good to me.

Therava: Aren't I though.

Semirhage: Let's get back on track. Rhadam, why don't you see if some of your Questioner friends are interested?

Rhadam: Because their names aren't known. Ever since Carridin got _murdered_…**glares at Shiane**

Shiaine: Just doing my job. Anyway, he was a Darkfriend. You would have killed him if I hadn't.

Rhadam: Humph. Anyway, none of the others have names.

Semirhage: Well, if you find one who does, I'll be glad to interview him. Next order of business: I will be away for—

**loud ringing noise**

Therava: Blood and ashes. **takes out a cell phone** What?

Sevanna's voice: Why can't I be in your Society?!

Therava: Because you aren't a true sadist, as I've told you fifty times!

Sevanna: I watched you butcher Desaine alive, and enjoyed it!

Therava: That's not enough. Now go away.

Sevanna: You miserly, self-satisfied b—

Therava: That's enough out of you. **shuts phone** What a pest.

Temaile: What _is_ that thing?

Therava: Oh, just a ter'angreal Caddar gave me. Sevanna has one too, and they carry words between us using the Power.

Semirhage: **under her breath** He was always a troublemaker.** louder** Turn it off for our meetings, please.

Therava: Turn it…off? How do I do that?

Semirhage: Like this. **takes phone and turns it off, then hands it back** Press the same place to make it work again.

Therava: Wow, thanks. Her pleading was really getting on my nerves.

Semirhage: I'm sorry, but I interviewed her and she just doesn't meet my standards. Why did you tell her about S.O.S in the first place?

Therava: I didn't. She heard of it from her boyfriend, what's-his-name. Um…Daved Hanlon. That's his name. I don't know how he heard of it.

Shiaine: So that's where he disappeared to! Moridin was most displeased.

Semirhage: I'll talk him out of displeasure. Daved wasn't eligible for membership either, but he's a fine Darkfriend. Very fond of chaos and destruction.

Therava: Yes, he and Sevanna cause all kinds of havoc. He complains about not being in S.O.S, but he has enough honors as leader of W.O.W.

Rhadam: W.O.W?

Therava: Womanizers Of the World. I heard him boasting about it to another gai'shain and…asked him to tell me more. So wanting membership here too is just plain greedy.

Semirhage: Phew, I remember when Rhavin founded that club three thousand years ago. Has it existed all this time?

Therava: No, he re-started it while ruling Andor, and Daved took over after he, ah, died. The man claims to be Rhavin's descendent!

Shiaine: I was afraid that would go to his head.

Jaq: Nasin is in it too. He complains to me that some fellows called Mat Cauthon and Olver always beat him in the flattery contests.

Semirhage: Mat and Olver are in it? **snorts** I'm not surprised. Come to think of it, I recall Olver talking about "going to wow" recently. If so many people talked about_ our_ society, we would be in trouble.

Therava: Men have no sense of discretion.

Shiaine and Temaile: How true

**All three sniff in unison**

Semirhage; Well, that's their concern. As I was saying, I'll be away for the next two months on a business trip.

Temaile: Where?

Semirhage: Somewhere fun. Maybe I'll take you there one day, if you're good.

Rhadam: Bet I can guess.

Semirhage: You probably can, but I'm not a gambler. Shaidar Haran is coming with me, since it's also our honeymoon. So society leadership will be shared by Jaq and Shiaine.

Rhadam: Why_ them_?

Semirhage: Because they're the best-behaved. If there's an emergency, you two, contact Mesaana. But it had better be a real emergency, or she'll kill you.

Shaidar Haran: And I won't be around to stop her.

Semirhage: You'd better not regret missing the chance.

Shaidar Haran: You'd better make sure I don't.

Semirhage: I certainly will. Now if we're done chattering…whose turn was it to bring a subject?

Therava: Mine.

**gets up and opens a small door in the wall. Pulls out a naked man with his hands tied and a string of ears around his neck**

Semirhage: And who is this?

Therava: Some wetlander I caught near our camp. I picked him off an army; nobody will notice his absence. I think his name is…Hori. No, Hari.

Semirhage: Thank you. Now, this technique requires a small serrated knife—

Hari: No, no, please! I'll never sever another ear, please, by all you hold dear—

**starts wailing and thrashing wildly in Rhadam's grip. Semirhage channels: a band of Air wraps around his mouth, another knocks him down and pins him to the floor in a grotesquely twisted position where he lies, eyes rolling. Everyone kneels in a circle around him, gazing down eagerly**

Semirhage: Interesting; fear turns you poetic. But you're out of luck; the forces I hold dear don't care about your fate. removes string of ears Who wants this?

Jaq: I do. **takes it **A good collection, for such a young fellow. Women must have crooned over you. Now_ my_ girl will be impressed…by _your_ work. **evil grin**

Semirhage: You're a sly one, Jaq. Let's begin, so I can uncork his screamer. Remember to start with the victim in this position, for the best effect. Put your blades in a line alone here, at a forty-five degree angle to the skin. And when I give the word…

**scene fades to black**


	5. Fun in Shayol Ghul

_While contemplating how the Chosen might have spent their 3,000 years imprisoned together, I envisioned the following loony dialogue_

Ag: Owl and elephant, yes. Owlephant!

Asmo: It bubbles, it flows, how ruby-red it glows…

Ish: The world is mine! Mwahahahahaha!

Asmo: Will you quit rehearsing that line? I'm trying to write an "Ode to Lava"

Ish: Shut up, wuss

Asmo: Call me that again, and I'll brain you with my saxaphone

Ish: Since when do you play saxaphone?

Asmo: Since forever. You would've noticed, if you weren't so busy trying to kill Lews Therin

Ish: I WILL kill him, too

Lanfear: If you do, I'll strangle you with your own intestines

Mesaana: Stop bickering, children

Ish: Make us. _blows a raspberry_

Mes: Fine. I'll just join Moghedien in daydreaming. Or evening-dreaming, or whatever time it is out there. _pokes Moggy_ Move over, you're hogging the softest rock

Moggy: _sleepily_ Someday my Myrddraal will come

Ag: Myrddraal? Those pests have gotten in here?

Everyone: No

Ag: Phew. Listen, what would you think of a tiger moth? Half-tiger, half moth?

Ish: I think you're the biggest pervert ever.

Ag: Puh-leese. Graendal is way worse than me, right, Big G? Hey! Earth to Graendal!

Graen: One little, two little, three little—huh? Wha?

Ag: Who's more perverted, you or me?

Graen: Me, of course. Now may I return to my twisted thoughts?

Ag: Yeah, whatever

Rhav: You know, when she was dazed, she looked just like my dream woman

Bal: Agreed. Except that mine would have bigger—

Rhav: Oh, give it a rest. You know I have more imagination than you.

Bal: Do not

Rhav: I'm hotter than you, too

Bal: We'll see about that

Ag: Frog and…frog and…um…

Asmo: What are you babbling about now?

Ag: I'm trying to decide what to cross with a frog. Got any ideas?

Ish: A wagon?

Ag: Ha ha. Guess I'll go with frog and human. You can cross humans with anything. _mumbles happily_

Asmo: He's insane

Ish: He took a Portal Stone to Xanth, and left his mind there

Graen: Did someone say "Xanth?"

Asmo: What's Xanth?

Graen: Only the best vacation spot in the universe. The people there know how to live, oh yeah…

Asmo: Do you mean they—

Ish: Don't ask

Ag: I've got it! A cat-dog!

Ish: You've outdone yourself on that one, buddy

Mes and Moggy: _murmuring _Mmmmm, Myrddraal…

Semi: I'm trying to sleep, here. So if you don't all shut up within three seconds, I'm going to tear you apart. With my toes.


	6. Glargelshpurr

**Luckers on Dragonmount (which is a great site, btw) came up with the character of Glargelshpurr and the basic plot of this story. I just, er, fleshed it out a bit.**

Glargelshpurr sat hunched on a rock outside his house, chin in hands. His mother was working in the field and he should have been there too, but he couldn't stand to be amid the taunts and hurled earth-clods.

Like all people, Glargelshpurr had black hair and tilted black eyes. But he was much bigger and broader than any other child his age. Thin dark hair s covered his entire body. His ears and teeth were pointed.

"Hey, freak!"

He looked up. Kitri stood before him, hands on her hips. "Why aren't you working like you're supposed to?" she demanded.

"You're not." Talking hurt his mouth, so he always used as few words as possible.

"I gave my Papa the slip, and now I'm going to pick berries. If you tell anyone, they won't believe you. So ha ha."

She looked like a rabbit, with her big eyes and twitchy little nose. Rabbits were tasty and fun to catch; they squealed wonderfully while being torn apart. But he hadn't done so since the day his mother caught him at it and switched him nearly senseless.

"Want to pick berries with me?" She swayed a little, blinking several times.

"No."

"Nice tasty berries, all sweet and juicy and fat…"

"Go away."

"Fine, be like that. Bye-bye, freak." And off she ran, her skirt flying up to show nice meaty legs. His stomach growled.

_Freak…freak…_her words gnawed him. Why did everyone call him that? He never did anything after the first beating, not even things like stealing that other children did again and again. He listened to his mother and—most of the time—helped her work. He _could_ play with the other children—it wasn't like he was stupid—but they never let him. Yes, he _looked_ odd, but even the woman with no arms and the boy who drooled constantly weren't treated so meanly.

Then he remembered a conversation he had overheard the night before. A peddler had come to the village that day, and his mother had locked him inside with strict orders not to be seen or heard. But he was too curious and excited about a stranger—a peddler!—coming through to pass up the chance of seeing him. So at night he had sneaked out and hidden behind the inn where the peddler and other men were drinking. Lying in the dewy grass, he could hear them clearly.

_"Do tell me, what fine special things does this town hold?" The peddler took a long sip and set down his cup. "Aside from this excellent ale, of course." _

_"Oh, Morrissa's nothing special, Master Nalwin," "We're a farming village like any other around here," "Well, we've been raided by Trollocs a time or two, but where in the Borderlands hasn't?" The other men talked on top of each other, so fast it was hard to tell who said what._

_"Come now, every town has its own stories," objected Master Nalwin cheerfully. "I heard some children talking this afternoon, and one of them asked where "the freak" was. That's not something I've heard before."_

_"I'll cane the brats," muttered one man, but his voice was lost amid others crying "That's a fable, just children's make-believe, Master Nalwin," "Don't take them seriously," "Really, you know how young'uns like to play—" _

_"Oh, it aint no fable!" The loud, slurred voice of Big Arrill burst through their protests. "You want a story, man? I'll tell you what they was talking about, and any man who tries to stop me'll get 'is head bashed, hear me?" _

_Nobody said a word. _

_"So, it's like this," Arrill began, taking a loud gulp of drink. "You remember that tall, shifty-eyed woman as bought all that woolen cloth from you?"_

_"Yes."_

_"She's Elsperra, the seamstress. And not long ago, she were the most beautiful and brazen girl this village ever seen. None could surpass her at harvest, aint that right, men?"_

_"Arr," chorused the others. _

_"But we wasn't good enough for 'er! Seven years ago, she disappeared into the Blight. For three days we thought she were dead—sorely mourned her too. But then she returned, haler than ever. And we Borderlanders know what that means."_

_Another chorous of "Arr"s. _

"'_Tweren't long before anyone could see what she done. No man would touch her after that, a'course." He spat. "But she stuck around, much longer than we expected, and still lives. Hardly bears thinking about, but there you are. There's no accounting for what women do."_

_The loudest "Arr"s yet. _

"_So, she's the freak?" asked Master Nalwin, after a long pause. _

"_Oh, she's a freak, right enough," growled Arrill. "But children don't talk about her. Nah, I wager what you heard tell of was the thing she brought back." _

_The thing she brought back…_could that be_ him_? But he had no memory of ever being in the Blight; going there was strictly forbidden. Perhaps she had found him there as a baby, and brought him home like a stray kitten. But that would be an honorable act, not a shameful one. When old Mistress Mirelen jumped in the river to save a drowning child, everyone had called her a hero. Why wasn't his mother a hero, too?

His ruminations faded as she came limping toward the house. Her face glistened with sweat and her hoe dragged on the ground—a bad sign, to be wearing it out that way. The smell of fresh blood clung to her.

"You should have been in the field with me," she said indifferently. No question of why he hadn't been; she knew why.

"What happened, Mama?" he asked.

"Some fool lost control of his pitchfork," she mumbled, and vanished shakily into the house. Her choking breaths echoed within.

Her scent, and bitter experience, told him she was lying. After a short while, when she didn't re-emerge, he went in and found her lying facedown on her bed. The back of her dress was tattered, revealing long, dirt-encrusted gashes.

"Glarg," she said suddenly.

"What?" he asked.

"Why did I…Glarg, why did you…?"

"What I do, Mama? What I do?" he demanded, alarmed.

Raising her head slightly, she smiled. "Nothing, love. You did nothing. It's not your fault that you—that I—that your—"

Her head dropped and she trembled with strangled sobs. Sitting carefully on the bed, he leaned over and began to lick the earth from her wounds. All through the evening, as tears spread across her pillow and long after she fell quietly into sleep, he licked away the savory blood and wondered why they were so hated.

Glargelshpurr ran through the blight, heart pounding, breath coming in gasps. Pungent muck splashed up beneath his feet, coating his legs to the hip. Braches clawed at his face and chest, but he kept running. He had to get away.

A fallen tree rose suddenly before him. Too late to jump it, he tripped, and slid down a slope covered in slippery, sharp-edged stones. Jouncing, slashing pains wracked him as he fell—and slammed face-first into a boulder.

For a while he lay there, too hurt and exhausted to move. Then, slowly, he pulled himself into a sitting position, wincing and whining softly at the multitude of small cuts covering his torso. There was blood in his throbbing mouth. He spat, and a tooth fell into his lap. Not a tooth: a long, sharp fang.

How far into the Blight had he gone? Deep enough, he hoped. There was no chance of finding a way out, but that didn't matter. He couldn't go home, not after—

Memories surfaced in his mind, searing unmercifully, though he tried to push them away…

_A great roaring bonfire shot fountains of sparks into the night. Music of flutes, drums and horns curled and fluttered among the stars, melding with high chanting voices. Golden-red light splashed across the laughing faces of women dancing in a circle around the fire, shooting in shafts through their shadowy hair, framing their flowing, arching, swirling bodies._

_He watched from the shadows, behind a crowd of men. Never before had he been to a Harvest Dance; like all of the village children, he was locked up. But the other boys had been old enough this year, and his mother had still refused. So, while she was sleeping, he had sneaked out once again. From what everyone said, this would be a sight no adult should miss. And it was. _

_Suddenly, a woman ran toward him, moving beneath her dress in several fascinating ways. A fierce, desperate hunger, like none he had ever known erupted within him, and he took a step forward. But a dark shape hurtled in front of him: a man, seizing the woman around the waist. She lifted her mouth eagerly to his, and they tumbled out of sight. _

_Glargelshpurr snarled silently, hands fisted and lips rising from clenched teeth. He couldn't quite understand where his anger came from, but it was there—the man should not have taken the girl he wanted to—to what?_

_Three more times a similar thing happened, and his fingernails were cutting into his palms. With every time his head burned worse, like a boil that needed to be lanced. He had had enough! It was time to go home. _

_"Pssst! Glargelshpurr!"_

_He whirled. Kitri stood behind him, deep in shadow. "Come." _

_"What?"_

_"Come." A stray flame washed over her, and she swayed smoothly, entire torso rippling. Her eyes gleamed. "Come with me."_

_She turned, hair flaring like a black fan, and ran into the darkness. He followed, somehow not caring if anyone noticed, driven by a strange force which seemed to know exactly what it was doing. Sweet pain rushed through him, he could see almost nothing but her and knew, somehow, that everything would be all right when he caught her. _

_Through the village they ran, dodging pools of light from wndows. Through the freshly harvested fields, dry stems pricking his feet amid soft, pungent soils\. Out onto a fallow field of long grass, and there she turned and stood still, facing him. She grinned, catching the moon in her teeth. Then she opened the front of her dress. _

_For a moment he just stared. Then, realization of what to do sparked somehow in his brain and he ran to her, a yell—or roar—bursting from his throat. She flung her arms around him and they sank into the grass, he against her warm softness—_

_An angry voice tore through the night. "What's going on there?_

_Kitri stiffened, cursed softly. The next moment she was thrashing beneath him, screaming and wailing "Help, help me anybody!' He tried to hold her still, to cover her mouth, but he didn't have enough hands. She grabbed at his throat and he jerked to the side, seizing her arm in his jaws. _

_Many strong hands grasped him from behind, yanking him up onto his knees. Looking up, he saw the livid face of Kitri's father. _

_"_What are you doing, girl?" _the man bellowed at Kitri, who still lay on her back, eyes wide and shoulders twitching. _

_"He was forcing me, Papa," she whimpered through quivering lips. "I went to get some w-water and he jumped out at me and I thought m-maybe I could l-lose him in the dark but he caught me and he was about to-to—"_

_The man's face softened, and he patted her hand. "There now, we're here. He can't get you now." His eyes turned again to white-hot stones as he tuned to looke at Glargelshpurr. "You _despicable _BEAST!"_

_"Huh?" said Glargelshpurr. _

_A fist slammed into his jaw; lights exploded painfully through his brain. The hands holding him tightened as Kitri's father snarled into his face. _

_"You've shamed our village for ten years now. We put up with you and your mischief because we're decent folk; we didn't want to hurt a child with some humanity in him. But assaulting my daughter was unforgivable."_

_"I didn't—"_

_Another punch sent his head flying back. "You have three seconds to get running north, back to the filth you came out of. If we see you after that, ever again, we'll fill your worthless hide with arrows. Now scat!" _

_The hands released and he sprang to his feet. Too angry and confused to think, he roared and swiped at the men standing behind him, knocking one to the ground. But as he swung his arm back for another blow, three pains plunged into his back. He whirled—and found himself staring down five arrows on the bows of hardy Saldaean farmers. Five muscular arms drew back on the bows. _

_"Move," growled Kitri's father. _

_Terrified, he ran. Rocks whizzed by, some striking home. Shouts pierced him: "Scum!" "Disgusting animal!" "Trolloc-spawn!" The North Star blazed in his eyes; he saw nothing else and didn't need too. They were behind him and they would kill him if he didn't get away. Forest loomed ahead, blotting out the moon, and he ran into it, not caring where he was going…_

Deep in the Blight, he curled up in the muck and cried. Kitri had betrayed him, lured him into a trap. He had only tried to do what the other men did, but she must have known that for some reason he wasn't allowed to, and gotten him in the biggest trouble ever. Why, why? It didn't matter. His home was lost. And his mother, the only only who cared about him. Her tired, loving face shone in his mind's eye. "I'm sorry, Mama," he whispered through prickling tears.

Now what? He knew nothing about the Blight, or how to live there. And yet, it felt strangely familiar, as if some part of him had been there long ago and forgotten about it. A thought—hadn't Kitri's father called it "the filth you came out of?" Perhaps he_ had _been here, long ago!

And then another jeer surfaced: "Trolloc-spawn." What could that mean? He had never seen a live Trolloc, but two of the village men had once killed several and hung their carcasses on a fence in celebration. Those big, muscular, hairy bodies, those sharp teeth and long jaws…yes, they weren't entirely unlike him. But his mother certainly wasn't on of them! So could it be that—

From far off, he caught a scent. It was strange, rich as fresh blood but muskier. Though barely similar, it somehow brought the Harvest Dance, and Kitri, to mind. The same desire welled up anew, speeding his heart.

He looked again at the fang in his hand. No, whatever had happened in the past, he was not human. The Blight was home now, because it had to be. And perhaps there was something good to be found here.

Lurching to his feet, he strode off among the trees, following the faint promise of a half-remembered scent into an unknown future.


	7. The Terrible Three

**Just a little something I thought up in a moment of sadism toward the people of Randland.**

**By the way, if you haven't heard--Robert Jordan died this fall. May he rest in peace. **

Sorilea closed the door, sighing wearily. "Blood and ashes, Rand al'Thor could make a stone scream."

Sitting on the bed, Cadsuane laid down her comb and began braiding her hair. "Tell me about it."

"Well, he had the nerve to—"

"It's an archaic expression, meaning 'I sympathize'".

"Oh. I'll tell you anyway. When I informed him that—"

Cadsuane couldn't look away from Sorilea's eyes, sparkling like great jewels. In all her years, she had seen nothing else of quite that blue-green shade. Eyes like no other.

"—and aren't men infuriating that way?"

She barely avoided jumping, realizing that she hadn't listened. "They certainly are." That would always do for an answer.

"Ah, who needs them." Sorilea sat on the bed and leaned her head against Cadsuane's bosom. "I like your softness," she murmured. "Few Aiel are so soft."

"Are you calling me weak?" demanded Cadsuane.

The Aiel woman's lean frame shook with laughter. "Oh no, I would never say that. You are the strongest woman I've ever known."

Cadsuane put an arm around her pillow-friend. "I could say the same for you."

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Through an eavesdropping-weave, Cadsuane listened to shouting voices.

"She's mine, mine I tell you!"

"Shut your impertinent mouth, I found her first!"

"Well, I found her last!"

"Why can't you mess with Nynaeve? She already fawns over you."

"I'm not fool enough to get involved with a married woman. Have you seen her husband? The great lummox would tear me apart like a dry leaf."

"Oooh, you're afraid? You'll never be able to deal with _her_ if a mere _man_ scares you so."

"Only an idiot wouldn't be afraid of that man! You had your turn with her, and now I want a fair chance. Try to stop me and I'll—I'll—"

"You'll_ what_, exactly?"

Muffled whispers.

"Oh my, you certainly have an imagination."

"Want a few more suggestions?"

"Actually, I might. There are always impudent young people around who need to be put in their properly-subdued place."

"You'll have to pay for them with her."

"What do you take me for?"

"Could I at least have a share?"

"Hmmm, maybe. We Aiel women do sometimes share lovers…"

"Please?"

"Now you're asking the right way. I won't take threats, but I'm reasonable when pleaded with. If we become sister-wives, would you continue sharing your excellent ideas?"

"I would indeed, and I'd carry them out if need be."

"We'll go to her, then. Just remember who's in charge."

Cadsuane smiled, releasing the weave. Her affections hadn't been fought over in a long time. Sorilea's loss, which would have been greatly regretted, had been avoided, and Lini was quite a catch. Bless those odd Aiel customs!


End file.
